kingdom of nations

Chapter 139 On the Road to Apollo (4)

The governor of Damascus was originally supposed to be the Kurdish Shirkul, but out of fear and respect for him and his nephew Saladin, Sultan Nur ad-Din placed them there to guard the southern gateway for him.

But now we all know that he betrayed the Sultan's trust and has become the Grand Vizier of the Fatimid Caliph al-Atid in Cairo, thousands of miles away. Obviously, he may never return here in his lifetime. And if he were to reappear at the gates of Damascus, his identity would definitely not be that of a subject of the Sultan, but rather another Sultan.

The man who came to greet them was merely an agent hastily appointed by Hoshirkus when he left Damascus—an officer under Hoshirkus, a somewhat short but strong middle-aged man with a gray beard and eyes that gleamed with an ambition no less than that of a young man. Upon seeing Sultan Nur ad-Din's coffin, he immediately dismounted, knelt in the dust, and wailed loudly. He tore off his turban and threw it to the ground, then slashed his face with a dagger, letting the blood flow down his cheeks and neck.

He acted as if he were in such agony, as if his chest had been ripped open by a lion, but both the Saracens and the Christians merely watched his performance with indifference—if he were truly such a loyal man, he shouldn't have allowed the bandits outside Damascus to run rampant like this.

“I’m afraid he’s taken this opportunity to amass a considerable fortune,” Geoffroy said in a low voice. Indeed, if the trade routes were smooth and the towns were peaceful, he would get almost nothing besides the established taxes (poll tax, land tax, customs duties). But if there were crises both inside and outside the city, he could use the pretext of recruiting soldiers and equipping them with weapons and horses to charge the merchants in the city.

Kamal also noticed the shimmering fabric peeking out from under the seemingly simple cotton robe, meaning this Kurd was dressed like a woman in silk for pleasure. He felt an unbearable irritation and nearly lashed the agent's face with his whip, but restrained himself. "Take us to the city," he said. "We need more salt and ice." This was to prevent Sultan Nur ad-Din's body from beginning to decompose in the coming days.

The officer hurriedly got up from the ground. He didn't dare to offend Kamal and even wanted to curry favor with him. His previous performance of shouting was to leave a good impression on Kamal, so that he could speak to the new Sultan after Kamal returned to Apol and make him the true master of Damascus.

For the same reason, he behaved rather arrogantly as he passed through the Christian procession—neither speaking nor bowing. He probably thought it was a good time to demonstrate his steadfastness and piety.

Froy couldn't help but chuckle. Compared to the seemingly obsequious and subservient Busra administrator, Shamsdin, this fellow was truly stupid, incompetent, and shameless. He refused to believe that news of the Christian knights' successive annihilation of several bandit groups outside the city hadn't reached Damascus—though if these bandits were intentionally raised by this bastard, perhaps they had indeed done something to anger him.

Camar was also observing the Christians. Cesar's face was hidden in the shadow of his visor, but he appeared as calm as ever. Most of the knights, like Geoffroy, were unconcerned—some even laughed out loud.

To the officer's embarrassment and anger, Kamal did not accept his flattery but instead rode up to the young Christian knight, not even alongside him—he stepped back behind Cesar, saying, "This is the Knight of Bethlehem, son of Josephine III, Earl of Edessa, and brother of Baldwin IV, King of Arrassa. In Arrassa, he performed the 'purification' for the Sultan on behalf of the Sultan's sons. You should show him respect."

This was something the officer had never expected. He opened his mouth, seemingly unsure what to say. Kamal didn't need his reply. The Sultan's coffin was in front, and they followed closely behind, passing through the gate and down the dark passageway. In the bright white light, Kamal squinted slightly.

Little did he know, something truly surprising was yet to come.

Passing through the passageway, we arrived at an open space. This open space was neither a square nor a place for any important ceremony. Instead, it was where soldiers and civilians used to assemble large siege equipment during the defense of the city. This place should have been spacious and peaceful, but it was now extremely noisy. A group of people were pulling out timber prepared in the warehouse and quickly setting up wooden frames.

They had seen this kind of wooden frame not long ago on the road connecting Damascus and Busla. It was like an empty door frame with its two legs deeply embedded in the soil, about one and a half people tall, and several already formed wooden frames had ropes with hanging loops attached to them.

At the same time, they heard cries coming from all directions. There were men and women, the elderly and children, some far away and some near, and people were being driven away, insulted and hurt.

Gradually, a group of people emerged from the streets and alleys, all looking disheveled and haggard. Most shamefully, apart from the women and children who still had a long shirt barely covering their bodies, the men were almost all wearing only shorts.

It is worth mentioning that during this period, neither Christians nor Saracens wore close-fitting clothing. Most wore a long shirt, which served as pajamas when sleeping and as underwear when getting up. Only Isaacs wore trousers that reached the knees, which were thus used as one of the marks of Isaacs and were called Isaac's trousers.

“Is this also part of the welcoming ceremony?” Geoffroy exclaimed, and Camar’s lips curled into a smile—at this moment, the officer came running up from the back of the group, panting. “It’s like this,” he explained, “I heard about what happened at Busra, and I was both shocked and angry. The thought of so many Isaacs in Damascus made me worried. So I arrested and tortured a few of them. Alas!”

He wore a pained expression: “My lord, they are a pack of carrion-eating vultures, a pack of ravenous hyenas. They collude with bandits outside the city, causing countless deaths and bringing disaster to countless families, tarnishing the jewel of Damascus. Therefore, I issued the order that all Isaacs be expelled from Damascus today, and they are not allowed to take anything with them—money, clothes, food, or water—their assets will be confiscated to compensate for the harm they have caused to the city and its inhabitants.” He spoke with righteous indignation, but even Gofroy, let alone Camar, was somewhat dumbfounded—did he think they were all fools?
Even though Hilku had left Damascus, the fact that he left this officer here to manage the city on his behalf meant that this man could not be mediocre.

Since he was neither mediocre nor stupid, how could he have been deceived by these unarmed Isaacs for so long?
It can only be said that he either colluded with the Isaacs or was simply the manipulator behind them. If it weren't for Kamal, or if someone else had been sent on the mission, and if he didn't have so many knights favored by the saints around him, and if the profits from the bandits continued to flow in, he would probably have continued to "sleep," turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the changes happening right before his eyes, until he had plundered everything he could.

Seeing the dire situation, he immediately put forward the Isaacs as puppets and confiscated their assets, as if slaughtering a fat, robust pig. For him, this did little harm; the wealth the Isaacs had accumulated in the city would ensure his position remained unshaken—regardless of who the new Sultan was.

He could even wait until things settled down before using the money to bribe the new Sultan's ministers, thus truly becoming the master of Damascus.

Kamal gave a half-smile, and those who knew him immediately knew that this high-ranking official of the Sultan had already decided to kill—he didn't care about the Isaacs. But he cared about Busra and Damascus.

Damascus is a sacred city. It is the birthplace of Abraham, and Moses, Jesus, Lot, and Job also visited it (they were Christian saints and Saracen prophets).

After conquering the city in 1154, Nur ad-Din rebuilt the fortresses and walls, and constructed new schools and hospitals. He loved the city deeply and praised it as a garden left by heaven on earth, the most beautiful and lovely city. He even considered moving the capital of Syria from Al-Apol to Damascus.

And yet, so soon after his death, his subjects dared to so wantonly ravage and humiliate the city—if Kamal had not been burdened with the responsibility of returning Sultan Nur ad-Din's remains to Apollo, his knife might have already pierced the chest of this Kurdish officer.

Cesar remained silent. As a Christian, he had no right to speak about the feud and conflict between the Isaacs and the Saracens. Moreover, since these Isaacs had willingly become the knife of this agent, they should have known that a knife can always break—by someone else or by its master. Their fate could not be considered entirely innocent.

Even if those women and children are innocent, what about the merchants and their families who were harmed by the bandits?
Just then, from among the men wearing only Isaac's trousers, a fully clothed man suddenly leaped out. "Seize him! He's an Isaac too!" someone shouted. Surprisingly, he was neither a Saracen nor a Christian. The informer was also an Isaac. His eyes were wide open, and he was gritting his teeth. He hated his own kind more than the Saracen who wanted to kill him and his friends.

Four or five soldiers immediately surrounded him, but this man, though tall and thin, was surprisingly agile and nimble. He was like an antelope surrounded by wolves, seemingly in danger but calm and composed. With a flick of his elbow, he knocked down a soldier charging at him, then slipped through the gap between two spears. He then looked at a squad leader—who was riding a horse.

In Damascus and other cities, Isaacs were not allowed to ride horses; they could only ride donkeys and mules. Horses belonged to the warriors—but this Isaac was clearly very familiar with the habits of horses. He leaped from the back of the horse and landed behind the squad leader. Before the squad leader could react, he had already grabbed Isaac's neck and gripped Isaac's arm tightly, but he fainted in less than a breath.

He was thrown off his horse, which neighed uneasily and stamped its feet a few times, seemingly trying to shake off the stranger. But the man simply covered its eyes and gave a stern rebuke. Before anyone else could react, he spurred the horse and slapped its rump hard. The horse reared up, leaped over the soldiers charging towards them, and in a few strides, it was close to the city gate.

The officer gave a soft snort—though he was greedy and vicious, he couldn't be entirely useless, since he had been left by Hilku to govern Damascus. He casually took a javelin handed to him by his subordinate, turned around, and threw it suddenly, hitting Isaac in the back. Isaac flew off his horse and crashed heavily to the ground. Soldiers rushed over and raised their spears.

"Wait!" Cesar suddenly called out.

The Saracen soldiers did not obey his orders, but their swords and spears were sent flying as if they had hit a boulder when they touched the struggling Isaac. One soldier even fell down because he used too much force.

The officer suddenly turned around, staring at Cesar with a murmur in his eyes, which were both unreadable and tinged with a hint of ferocity and wariness.

“I know this man,” said Cesar, dismounting and walking among the Saracen soldiers. He looked at the pale-faced Isaac lying on the ground. “What are you doing here, Haredi?”

(End of this chapter)